Not for Dreaming
by wahinetoa
Summary: SANA: Fluff Drabble. Alt ending for TftR. Sawyer visits Lucy in her tent, and discovers she's more a puzzle to him than ever. One; that determines to unravel, even him. Complete


**Not for Dreaming**

**Disclaimer:** ABC owns all.

**Dedicated:** Hoelli, Aloha and LL

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Ana Lucia Cortez was never one for dreaming, not really, but this was new to even her.

She's blinking away the sudden intrusion of raw sunlight falling over her eyes, burning away the last of slumber. Not exactly the cooling light she's expected to wake too, filtered through the blue canvas of her tent. Her mind is a rubix cube, nothing fitting into place, no matter how many times you turn the sides to fit. trying to piece together what is real, what feels like a dream - she's been that way since she was younger, not understanding how things were meant to be - this time no different. Everything a blur since Mike had tried and failed to kill her and Libby. Ana sighed heavily, wondering where she is, how she ended up back on the beach, in her own tent, when by rights she should be buried down the beach a little - another added to those who were never going home.

She shakes off such thoughts, consciousness' flooding back to her. Other important questions come to the fore. When did she sleep with the flaps of her tent open to allow the sun in? More importantly, when did the sun stream through, accompanied by an appreciative chuckle.

"SAWYER!" Ana Lucia hissed, tilting her head back to see the silhouette of the one and only male to truly raise her hackles. He was too far away to smack, so she chose to glare at him, while figuring a way stand and face him, without flashing him any skin. Chucking away ones clothes with only a sheet to cover her, was not a good idea.

Cowboy gave her a wide, smug smile, like he could read her thoughts, "Not the first time you screamed my name, Muchacha... though you're in the right position, I'm not.. " his gaze slides down over her body, as she gingerly stands, trying her best for intimadating while clutching the sheet to her form. "If memory serves, I had a more active role in that too…"

She had to hand it to him, he had brass, slouching at the entrance of her tent with all the comfort of someone who lived there. Even with the sun backlighting him like some Hero prince, neither one of them were fooled.

"Yeh, funny." she commented sarcastically, scanning around her gathered things for something else to wear. Anything else. Though she knew it was probably useless anyway, since Sawyer always looked at her as though she were naked all the time. Seeing through her clothes, her very skin to the heart of the woman she fought so hard to hide.

Like he was now. Her fire and belligerence had him fascinated, a wild mix of wounded and wounding, and for a moment he was riveted to the spot. He doesn't want to admit that news of Mikes betrayal had frightened him, far more than he ever imagined as he ran to the Hatch to find her. He told himself, that it was just to get back the gun, that's all, but he doubted that as much as he did his own reaction when Jack told him Ana had returned to the beach soon after. Sawyer had run back, not even bothering to use the excuse of the gun anymore, when Jack had it tucked into the waistband of his jeans - plain sight - and Sawyer was aware he was after something more precious, and dangerous, and HIS that he needed to claim.

He's mildly aware of lapsing into silence thinking on these things, but cannot seem to break the spell. It's her gaze, so dark and weighty with the question that remains between them since this afternoon; "Who are we now, that we're not alone?" And there's a look almost like regret, or bracing himself for loss, when she steps away, afraid of the answer. His eyes narrow on her, the signs of her messy packing - the act in which to flee.. and understands too well why she left the hatch - who does she trust when she cannot trust herself.

Bad timing.

Out of pure instinct, her hand reached for the gun - she'd long since given away. To Mike. Her life choices, ringing constantly wrong and true. Her hand shook with the memory of it though, and she became desperate to make herself busy and hide the tremble in her limbs threatening to take over.

Too late. Sawyer had seen it, seemed to know it much of her - as he did of himself. He had to remind his thudding need to know her more, he couldn't get attached to this impossible woman - not any more than he was reluctantly becoming. He doesn't even believe that; as he switches gears, desperate, to draw her away from thinking of escape.

"You were a challenge, Muchacha. I'll give you that. But I'm a hard nut to crack.." his sudden leer, suggested far more a play on words. "Not that I didn't appreciate you trying,.."

There's laughter in his voice, and she's still deciding whether to let the sheet go, and put all her might into cracking his skull. But his tone changes, a minute to minute flux.. as though his mind is too fast reaching conclusions his mouth hasn't caught up with. Turns darker, more the kind of sound she would use.

"Heard about you and Mike..."

Ana clutches the sheet closer to her body, over her heart, rubbing absently at the invisible hurt. Invisible, but still leaving it's mark, even though, thankfully, that certain bullet with her name engraved on it, never made its intended target.

Devil looks after its own.

But it still held a phantom hurt that she couldn't entirely ignore. "Yeh, well... one good turn deserves another." she dismisses whatever the Cowboy wants to say about that particular incident, and goes to pick up her clothes. "Anythin' else you want to say, or can your pearls of wisdom and wit kindly wrack off, so I don't have to smack the smug off you and make Freckles a bit more jealous?"

"No longer my problem," he stated off-handedly, his gaze travelling down her body with intimate awareness, a fondness amongst the other heated emotions he isn't bothering to hide. "Focused a lill' more clearly, now, that the rain has gone."

She was tempted to ask him, "Since when?" But she was eager to get him out of her tent and away from her - right away from her - because he was still a strong temptation to either knock him on his arrogant ass, or knock his arrogant ass.. choices. choices.

Her jaw set, those coal dark eyes of hers flare with anger, makes him ache. "Busy," she bites out threateningly, an uncompromising dismissal. "You know ya way out."

"Yes," he growled in a voice so deep and dark it slithered over every inch of Ana Lucias body to land in her gut. This time he wasn't looking for a way out.

Seeking the source of Sawyers new found genuineness , she stilled her action of packing, to find that he had stalked further into the tent, his face and body intent on her. He stood, daringly closer than any man had ever dared, challenging her as a woman on all levels. Want and need, curling off him like smoke.

Unable to resist, Ana glanced up at his face, curiously. Gone was the smirking rogue. In his place was a hard male with determined, desire-filled eyes watching her - gaze seeking the impossible. It was beautiful. Pure. Honest. It was intoxicating, and for a brief moment, Ana found herself pinching her eyes shut. Jaw tight, teeth clenched, breathing hard.. aware.

He leans into her, not quite touching, this is as much her choice to come to him, as he's made plain his choice to come to her - his lips skim over hers - a inhaled breath, exhaled from deep within, makes a defeated sound, not quite sighing, not quite moaning, but a shuddering sound that tells Ana that he is yielding something to her, something quite important.

Something he's not had before, to give.

"You ain't alone, any more, Ana Lucia." The soft rumble of the Cowboys deep voice settled low in her abdomen, as her belly muscles jumped and fluttered at his words. It reaches a part of her that has no defence for the honesty, the longing to both hear and say those words. She's trembling, so much so, that instinctively she reaches out for him, falling into his steady embrace, both hands clutching at his shirt - angry, frightened, all at once hopeful and grateful. The intimate movement stirred his body, and instinctively his hands squeezed against her waist. His brain, vaguely registers the warmth and smoothness of her bare skin against the pads of his calloused finger tips, but all of that becomes muted as they struggle from long held denial.

She tries to turn and twist away from him, away from whatever began the moment they both met on the other side of this island, down in the pit, but Sawyer holds her tightly by the hips, a touch that has more power to keep her than she has power to break free.

Unable to break free of his gaze, or the truth he offers so softly despite their raucous history, something in her gaze and the single tear that falls from the corner of her eye and is caught by his finger, as he wipes it gently away, tells him all he needs to know.

There's something to be said about resistance, even after such a confession. Which reminded him…

Sawyer leans further in, down into the Latin beauty, whispering slowly across her cheek, touching her plump mouth with his own, tasting her, breathing her in - a confession of his own, to match the hope that scorched between them.

"You dropped your sheet." he teased, before sweeping her up into his iron-clad embrace and carried her a few feet back to her bed.

That rubix cube of truth and love he'd been working on since he was 8 years old, suddenly fitting into place, the puzzle being solved. Resolved. Because, she would stay. One more night, or perhaps another week, but that's all he needed.

It had great potential.  
**The End.**


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